~Shells~ Under the citylife drips, in a flex of colorsa Japanese fan in broad sweepsundulates coy ringlets pinned against geisha templeswhile a temple in a maharaja’s dream inclines a column toward the linebetween my browseyes in slit studyinghieroglyphics trace a path up a griffin’s spine;I am watchingwatching closely nowlistening even closerfor the rush inside a conch shellwhile a man and woman apply pressure to the airher umbrella of lace openedagainst a flood of butterflies off courseraining moonstruck patternsas bodies hatch from an ideaflexiblea porcelain doll inside the pocket of my checkerboard apron

I am baking a world of curves;hands in ruddy clayscoop out a terrace with a view, pressed into the kilnforgetting the girl, bent over the side of the trellisfor it all burns, anyhowtakes on new shapesMy ID in laminateI surface fingerprints on the screenI’ve clocked insearching for my poetic killersoft soled shoes leaving the imprint of myths across uninspiring tilesandthereabove the citylife surges in mercuryencases me at his mercyhis dreams, in doe sinew, dip underoversewing a new hyde into my hips;he will do unimaginable things to the shellnot understanding that I have learnedthat my carapaceis not meand I think I may have just grown a little bit more sidewaysin this bayon this mystic islandwhere under is aboveand everything above leaves its dreamsin silhouettes on the shorefor women things like meto collect in blue jean pocketson the slide back downtoU N D E R L A N D

Author

~Each day is a new poem playing its ink through the fingerprints left in a trail of blue dreams from UnderLand to eager keys waiting in an almost sensual panic to be pressed full of another story, another poem, le poesie de jour~ Selene